It's not easy watching a parent growing old. With my dad it was a little different, because he had Alzheimer's. Regardless of how difficult it is to live with an Alzheimer's patient, there is still an expectation, or anticipation of what is to come. He began showing signs in his late seventies. By the time he was 84, he was basically incapacitated. Not that Alzheimer's is an easy thing to deal with. For me, emotionally, it was gut-wrenchingly hard. I had a very close connection with my dad. Watching my dad slip away in tiny increments was one of the hardest things for me to deal with. At that time I lived 200 miles away and I was going through menopause. It made for a perfect storm of guilt, frustration, depression and just downright sadness. I'm still very apologetic to my daughter, who was starting college just at that time. I completely lost my mind with grief and anxiety and was not much support for her.
Be that as it may, my dad had a certifiable disease, something that we could all point to and say: "Ah, this is why THAT happened..." By the time my dad died, my entire family breathed a sigh of relief. That's not because we wanted my dad dead. Not in the least. But Alzheimer's is one of those diseases that affects the whole family. It was a strain on my sister and me, and certainly a strain on my mom, who tried very hard to be the primary caretaker for him. I am convinced that most of my mother's physical problems stem directly from trying to take care of my dad for so long. He lived six or seven years with Alzheimer's; the last three years he was unable to dress himself or feed himself. My mother took care of his every need as best as she could. Even when we moved them both to assisted living, she got breakfast for him, fed him, and dressed him herself.
My sister and I were both so busy working and taking care of our own families to help that much. During that time period, Rosemary lived very close to where they lived, so that she could pop in for a visit almost every day. I, on the other hand, lived in Austin. I was teaching 180 students at a school that simply didn't believe teachers needed any time off. My husband was an alcoholic and battling his own demons of bi-polar disorder. Like I said, it was a perfect storm of crazy for me. I was paralyzed emotionally. Not a day goes by when I don't have to stop and try to forgive myself for the grief. I was in no position to offer much help to my mom then. At the same time, I continually have to battle that little voice that gnaws away at me inside that says "You should have been there. You could have done more..."
Ah, but that's all water under a very old bridge.
Now I am less than 30 minutes away from my mom. I do go by and see her every couple of days. But the grief doesn't get any smaller. I watch my mom's body fall apart. Her mind is still sharp. But she's depressed and lonely and most of the time in pain. She has osteo-arthritis and spondylitis. She has frequent recurrent bouts of gout and cellulitis. For a while she was mis-diagnosed with Type II diabetes. Her doctor accidentally ordered too much insulin for her, and twice she almost died. Thank goodness, he came to his senses.
And here I am now. I am fiercely protective of my mother. Anyone can attest to the fact that I advocate on her behalf at any opportunity, so much so that some of my co-workers in the interpreting field start to get a little uneasy when I open my mouth.
But part of my temerity comes from the fact that both Mother and Daddy were and are Deaf. Having Deaf parents comes with its own set of issues, more than I care to deal with in this blog.
Suffice it to say that I grew up as a caretaker of sorts. I had to advocate for my parents at a very young age, and there were many unscrupulous people who took advantage of me and of my parents, and I tend to be a little on the protective side.
The overriding emotion I have now, though, is that I don't want to repeat what happened with my dad all over again. I was so hoping that my mom could live out her years a little happier than she is now, a little healthier than she is now. She was always such a lively and vivacious person. She loved to go places and do things. She used to really love life.
That's why now when I visit, I am satisfied with a smile and a conversation. Today, she was smiling, asking questions and involved in conversation. Today was a good day.
